


exchanging of fans, exchanging of glances

by monere



Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, Gender Dysphoria, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Slow Burn, Trans Male Character, all you need to know is that it's the muromachi period, both hashirama and madara are trans, there's also samurai and stuff very cool, tried to go for historical accuracy but didn't get there
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-07
Updated: 2020-08-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:55:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25756981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/monere/pseuds/monere
Summary: Meeting each other by the river was by chance. The unasked "are you like me?" was answered by actions and slights of the eye. Glimpses and small tells that no one but them would know. There was always the omnipresent fear of being found out, the fear that you were inherently wrong in a world filled with right. But standing side by side with someone else who wore the same clothing, with the same scars, with the same pain, had made that worry melt away. And it felt nice to be completely understood like that, to have an identity cemented by the existence of someone like yourself. For some people it could take a lifetime to find someone like that.But that was until they were pulled apart by forces greater than themselves, their family names and all the violence that came with them. The Uchiha and the Senju were never meant to meet like this, they were never meant to understand each other like Hashirama and Madara did.
Relationships: Senju Hashirama/Uchiha Madara, Senju Touka/Uzumaki Mito
Comments: 7
Kudos: 15





	exchanging of fans, exchanging of glances

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, this is the first fic I've ever posted on ao3. It was born from my need to continue doing college level research during the summer while also being obsessed with Naruto. Please respect me during these trying times. Also I thought the tag needed more trans fics so I'm here. I wrote the dysphoria from my own experience and it's a bit personal so cis people... silence. I’m slow at updating and there’s going to be a lot of chapters so buckle up. Oh and another thing I'm very sorry for making mitoka into a side ship here but originally they were a Huge part of this fic. Like to the point where it was a bit much so I made it into another fic altogether so... that will be posted soon. 
> 
> Anyway. General warning for misgendering, dysphoria, vaguely described death, etc. You know the drill!
> 
> [Edit: just realized the ages are really vague so for reference (based on what I’ve read) samurai children would start being taught at 3-4, would start carrying swords between 5-7, and the coming of age ceremony would happen between the ages of 12-15 but during certain times this fluctuated.]

The summer was hotter than normal that year. It was said that this had caused great change within the land and especially the people, as if Kagutsuchi was licking at their heels. There were droughts and fires and prayers offered, but most importantly there was war. The Uchiha clan had always been familiar with fire and devastation, so this particular year was nothing new to them. However, they had been accepted into the fold of warring clans not too long ago after helping to overturn a weakening province and handing it over to the daimyo. They would make their new home there after being offered a fair amount of land and they would finally settle down. In turn, they had quickly been exposed to a number of other clans. The most pressing of all would be the Senju Clan, whom they quickly singled out as their rival, a neighbor that gnawed at their borders. 

This meant, that as clan leader, Tajima was quick to dismiss the weather and folk tales. He had long days ahead of him that only ever rolled into longer nights and battles that couldn’t be avoided where the Senju and Uchiha lands met. This left Tajima with little time for thinking about anything else. Especially about his family that remained at home, which he expected to be well protected in their recently fortified compound. Nevertheless, he hadn’t expected his eldest child to succumb to the fabled madness and go missing from their home. It was relayed to him by a messenger later in the evening in a hushed tone and all he could find in himself to do was sigh.

-

Madara had been a fussy child, but this was normal for Uchiha children. It meant that he would survive the long hard winters that were laid out ahead of him. That fire inside of him would keep him alive, whether he liked it or not, but that wasn’t the issue. It wasn’t the similarities to other children that confused him, it was the differences. Tajima wondered what would come of this child, his daughter who acted more like a son. One who screamed and fought and was not soft, always so quick to learn things that only boys needed to know. The Uchiha elders waved it off and said he would grow out of it, they had seen many daughters like him who were now happily married housewives. Tajima, a first time parent, was inclined to believe it. His wife, Minori, was more hesitant, knowing that deep down Madara was set to follow his own path, whether they liked it or not. 

In time, the main family of the Uchiha clan were blessed with four other children, all sons. Madara loved his younger brothers, of course, but he couldn’t help but notice that they weren’t like him. There was something natural and effortless about them, so confident in who they were, seemingly born into the right bodies. They always acted the right way, under no scrutiny from others besides that of their parents who simply chastised them for bad manners. It differed greatly from the way the elders looked down on him, making him feel trapped and wrong and worthless. It was as if everyone knew something that he didn’t, hushed voices and sharp glares making him feel like a stranger in his own body. Regardless, he was there to protect his siblings at every turn, give up his haori when they shivered, and offer up his dinner if there weren’t enough provisions. Outwardly, though, he wasn’t the softest or kindest older brother because it was hammered out of him as he aged. It wasn’t often that Uchihas showed those kinds of emotions anyway, after all, they were trained to be ready to kill or be killed at all times. But each knew deep down that their bonds showed love, a version that didn’t require words to communicate it. 

Being the eldest, Madara would gravitate towards emulating his father and idolizing him. Every time he had been home long enough Madara would beg him to train him, show him something new, and his father would comply. His enthusiasm was endearing even though it confused Tajima, who could be cold and quiet and reserved. He had come to grasp that, despite being a disciplined samurai, he was also a father. Although he still clung to tradition he could be understanding and lenient as well, seeing his daughter happy had made him realize that. And, after all, he was trying to raise his children to outlive him so he figured teaching Madara wouldn’t hurt. But watching Tajima spar with other Uchiha and even train with him had left Madara with stars in his eyes. It made it difficult for his mother to put him to bed every night, always telling exaggerated scenes of what he had seen earlier. It was even worse in the mornings when Minori got him up and settled down in the library. He would veer off on a tangent before she could get a scroll in front of him. She felt exasperated most of the time, as she was the more stern of the two parents, fiery and outspoken, but at a loss when it came down to getting her own child to cooperate. 

Before his brothers were old enough he would fight with other boys his age, but he found that they lacked real challenge when compared to his father. He had watched many of them lose their nerve against him as their wooden swords shattered into pieces under the brunt of his attack, always countering, always watchful. At the end of the day he would go back to the Uchiha compound and practice by himself for hours, always a perfectionist. If he got the chance he would pull in one of his other relatives, a foot soldier that was milling about, or even his mother to help him practice. Tajima hadn’t noticed he had created a monster until he had come back from settling a dispute in town and he had seen Madara manage to knock over someone half his size. But that had been a good thing in Madara’s eyes, his father had praised him and said he was worthy of the Uchiha name, telling him that he would be able to fight alongside him soon. Madara glowed in response, not knowing what war meant for him.

When Izuna got old enough to carry his own sword he was not exempt from his brother’s insistence on practicing. But Izuna was more interested in the study of classics rather than playing. Madara had done well in his studies but he had never been all too involved in it beyond learning what he needed to. It led to many fights between them which their younger brothers would watch with curiosity.

“You’re going to end up becoming a monk,” Madara had joked.

“No, I’m _not_. I just like to read unlike you.” Izuna flipped another page, trying to seem as unflappable as he thought he was.

“You’re going to take the tonsure and we’ll never ever see you again.” 

That had made Izuna huff in annoyance, more at the thought of his long hair being cut rather than his brother’s dramatics. He slammed his book closed. Madara grinned as he bolted off, satisfied that he disrupted his brother's studies, hearing him bound down the hall after him. 

The rest of his brothers followed just to watch them fight in the courtyard. Izuna was only a year younger and he excelled at sword fighting much like his brother. It was even said that he would come to rival Madara, but Izuna wasn’t keen on wasting his whole entire day on practicing as much as his older brother did. He even found that he preferred looking over military tactics and medical manuals more than he did using the sword, although he would never admit it. The twins, Kenta and Kouta, were a year younger than Izuna and at the age where they were bratty and annoying. Even if they were nuisances no one could deny that they were forging their way through their archery and horseback lessons in perfect synchronicity. In town they had even begun to gain notoriety, not because of their skill, but because of how they launched rocks at passers by with a frightening accuracy. Arata was the youngest of the Uchiha, too little to really be accomplished at much of anything but old enough to try. They all assumed he would excel in hand to hand combat, given his hotheadedness and his answer to anything and everything was to use his fists first and think later. 

Despite all of their combined talents Madara was still heralded as the most adept of his family. Most would claim that he was some sort of prodigy that was proficient in anything he tried. But his achievements would come at a price. His father would keep his end of the promise and he would see too much death when he was far too young. Sometimes it was in the form of trespassers on their land, other times it was bandits without allegiance to one clan, and much more. However, the one that had stayed with him was his first interaction with the Senju. It had been to expose him to the wrongs that their rival clan had committed, the fact that they had taken Uchiha life. The fact that his comrades were lying dead in front of him. Madara didn’t entirely get it, but he would take his first life on the dwindling battlefield while he could not comprehend just what it was that he was doing. He would watch the Senju die by his sword, unaware of the child that had snuck up behind him and pierced a weak spot in his plating.

Tajima had decided that growing out of his phase had come to pass for Madara. He had determined Madara’s fate by placing the samurai helmet on him at his coming of age ceremony. He was now a man even though he was unaware of what that meant, he would be known as Madara from then on, the eldest son of the Uchiha clan leader. Just a few months later war had arrived at their humble dwelling and a decision had to be made. The identity he had gained would be contested. Madara was eager to fight within the heart of the battle instead of the outskirts, but Tajima was afraid to lose his most promising child. He was afraid to lose one that could offer the clan much more than he could in his own lifetime, so he put his foot down. He had let Madara train, he had let Madara wear what he wanted, he had let Madara play with the other boys, but he couldn’t bear the thought of him fighting a losing battle. And it was so, Madara was left behind and confined to the house. In the hope that filial piety meant anything to his child, Tajima had told Madara to stay put and help his mother. Promising that the Uchiha compound needed him to protect it for the time being, and that he would become the rightful inheritor in case anything happened. 

Unfortunately for Tajima, Madara was not so complacent.

He had watched his younger brothers pass their own coming of age ceremonies, way too early for his liking, and stride off chanting with the rest of the clan. Their little shoulders squared and eyes forward looking to fight as the battles grew larger and required more men, more power. And each time he felt a pang of humiliation at not being the first and of worry at being the one that would likely outlast them all. He wished it was him going off instead of them, as Kouta came back dead and then Arata. There was nothing he could do about it and everyone had told him so, as this was expected during times of war. But that didn’t stop the seeping feeling of guilt at the thought of them, his brain running around in circles. He knew he should be celebrating their successes instead, the meager piece of land they had now that they didn’t yesterday. So he pushed it all down. He tried not to notice that his family was whittling down little by little, and that the clan was collapsing in on itself. 

Madara had found that he had always had trouble sitting still when he didn’t need to.

-

Earlier that morning he had been lured into a tea ceremony with his aunt who was visiting and a couple other relatives. Madara didn’t know them very well nor did he want to, but his mother had told him it would be good for him. It would be good for practicing his manners, that were desperately in need of help. It would also get him used to being in a setting that had clearly defined rules, which he already disliked on principle. She even dressed him up nicely and he had let her because he hadn’t wanted to upset her. He felt as if he were too old for it, counting each layer of the kimono, the next more colorful than the last. It felt suffocating, really, but she had told him he looked handsome, and that he looked so much like her, and—he decided that he would suffer through it. There were lessons waiting for him later in the evening, poetry with the Hyuugas, so he figured it would make up for any grievances he had. But little did he know that his list of grievances would run all too long.

Madara found that these events were slow and time consuming, then again nothing did compare to the thrill of training and the promise of a fight. They all waited, and waited, and waited, and finally his aunt invited them in. As soon as he sat down he started to fidget, but he couldn’t help it. His mind was filled with plans and escape routes and ways to insert himself into a war that didn’t need him. His aunt was sending him glares across the room when she wasn’t pouring tea or distributing sweets to the other guests, who pretended not to see what was happening right in front of them. They opted to look at the walls, or the flowers, or even the wall scroll. They never looked at Madara who had been deemed the strange and unruly child. He was well aware that he was an open secret among those who were older than him. At one time they had seen the birth of the Uchiha child as something to celebrate, but as he grew he had changed into something most of them were unfamiliar with. Some members were accepting, but the majority more out of obligation, as they preferred to have a well behaved boy run around than a girl that raged and spat at them. The acceptance was a silent kind and it did little to outweigh the ones who rejected him.

He rolled his eyes sitting back on his legs, shifting to sit with his legs crossed. It was undignified and it was not within the rules for him to set the tea cup down loudly. The porcelain clattered and they all startled on their tatami mats, turning to stare at him for the first time that morning. 

“I’m done fooling around here.” He had set his jaw. 

“Now, that’s no way for a young lady to behave. Sit down!” his aunt crowed. She watched the tea ceremony she had carefully planned fall apart before her. 

“I’m _not_ a young lady.” 

And he swiftly stood up and made his way out of the room, stripping out of the heavy kimono his mother had painstakingly dressed him in. He had humored it, but it was beginning to feel like a second skin, a husk that he did not belong in. He left the layers float towards the floor.

The house was silent, set on edge from his little performance with a type of tension he hadn’t felt since the news of the war broke. Madara had been raised knowing how to navigate the land around him, adept at sword fighting, an avid reader, a fast learner. He knew how to navigate through the land on foot or horseback, he could conquer a fight with ease. But he found that he tripped and stumbled when learning how to make the perfect tea and how to entertain and how to be polite. The curtains, screens, and etiquette had made him feel so small then, trapping him there with their thumb. In an effort to cut it in half he ran from it. He left knowing that everyone was no longer paying attention to him, too scandalized by what he had just done. No one would come running after him now. 

-

Madara was enraged. 

He had known that his father had kept him home for a reason. Not because he was extremely capable of protecting his family or working alongside his mother, but something else. There was this nagging feeling at the back of his mind that started as a small fire but quickly grew and overtook it that told him his father had underestimated him. That Tajima had degraded him without even saying anything or thinking it; that he had committed some sort of wrong against him that Madara couldn’t fully understand at the moment. Leaving him behind was chalking him up to be a girl not capable of going to war, but even women went to war during times like these, so he must have been lesser than. He must have—he had lost his footing and his train of thought, tripping over the root of a big oak tree. Without trying to stop himself, he had let himself fall, gathering scrapes and bruises on the way. With a blank expression he watched the blood rise to the surface as the sunlight filtered down on him through the trees. He turned away from it and looked up into the canopy. 

He felt pathetic. 

A goshawk swept its wings in the air above him and he realized he had been laying there for quite some time. Madara got up and brushed himself off, his clean silk kimono now dusty and rugged. He knew that he would be yelled at for it when he got home and it made his eyebrow twitch in response. He hated nothing more than looking disorderly, he even hated the Senju less. Then again, Madara thought about the war in juvenile terms still. He had not harbored ill will towards them, at least not the exact kind that the rest of his clan had cultivated over the years. 

As far as Madara was aware the Senju were a noble clan that had been around for ages, one that had never struggled like the Uchiha had. While technically a branch family, they had outgrown their regal roots, now flourishing on their own by making a great deal of money protecting the land that rivaled the Uchiha’s own. But they were not the only clan that they went up against, just the one they had seen the most of. Although the Uchiha were now considered on par with them, the resentment still lingered, hot and bright and blistering. They themselves had been a lowly clan of artisans, most popular for forging swords and crafting fans, before they were eventually dragged into war. Madara remembers the whispers, the difficulties that the seasons brought as interest in their products waxed and waned. A part of him resented others for it. Regardless of their struggle their territory had grown and so had their military prowess, and as far as Madara was concerned his family surviving mattered more than the pull of power. He had only come to the conclusion that the Senju were not to be trusted.

Eventually Madara found himself far from his home, far from the image his clan had forced upon him, out of breath on a riverbank. He let his hands rest on his knees rather than falling into the smooth layer of rocks beneath his feet like he had wanted to. His reflection peered back up at him from the water, so pale, restless, and disheveled, he could only grin at what his aunt would call an unbecoming lady. He grabbed a rock and tossed it in the water, the visage washing away downstream as he stood back up and straightened himself out. Then he took another rock, rolling it around in his hand feeling the smoothness of the surface as well as the sting of the cuts on his hands from when he had fallen earlier. 

He was finally alone, only surrounded by the sound of rushing water and bird calls and his own heaving breaths and his pulse in his ears. Although the weather was merciless with its heat he felt like he could finally think. It almost felt like he could keep running, if he just sloshed his way through the water of the river to the other side and never looked back. He could eventually join up with his brothers who he knew weren't all too far away, then he could prove himself. Not only to his father but to the rest of his clan as well. 

Before he could take another step, he froze. He felt that familiar creeping sensation of someone behind him, his hackles raised as he cycled through his options. His first thought was to quickly unsheathe his sword, but it would only put him at a disadvantage by alerting them to his presence. Although they were in the midst of a war in other parts of the province that didn’t mean that this necessitated a fight, it could be a commoner or even an animal after all. The rock weighed heavily in his right hand as he gripped it tighter. There was no distinctive set of footsteps, only the feeling of a solid gaze focused on his back. He hated that. 

“Skipping rocks?” A light airy voice drifted over his shoulder, his jaw clenched in response. 

Madara swiftly turned, the earth crunching beneath him, and aimed the rock directly at the person's head. It was something that would’ve pinned anyone who was a second slower, but the stranger simply ducked with a yelp as the rock flew overhead. It hit the tree behind them with a loud thunk chipping a good portion of the bark off.

“Sorry! I didn’t mean to startle you!” The figure was now hunched over on the ground just a few feet away, dejected, cowering with their hands over their head.

Madara cleared his throat, trying to make his voice lower than it was, more threatening, “You shouldn’t sneak up behind people.”

“I wasn’t sneaking…I thought I made it obvious!” The person put their arms out and waved them around in dismay, choppy hair swishing with the movement. 

The hair had caught his eye. It was shades lighter than his own dark mess of hair, but Madara thought it was strange for someone their age, not the color but the style. It was as if someone didn’t care enough with cutting it properly. And besides, it was normal for young boys to grow their hair out, like his own that he had just pushed out of his face. He frowned at the rest of them, their clothing garish still as if they were a child, but the sword they carried with them said differently. It was well made, much like his own, except the base color was white and it had soft jade detailing, vines curling up the scabbard, the tsuba made to look like a flower. Everything about them was uncertain and erratic and all over the place, so much so that Madara couldn’t even figure out which clan they were from.

“How so?” he asked. He was still tense, trying to determine whether they were harmless. 

“I cleared my throat!”

“I didn’t hear it.” 

Madara looked away towards the river trying to show disinterest while still keeping them in his line of vision. He stooped down to pick up another rock and threw it towards the water, watching as it skipped once and then again, only to lose momentum and sink down below the surface, ripple getting washed away in the slow current. 

All he did was blink at the silence that followed. It was quickly broken up by a loud, boisterous laugh from beside him, one that caused him to wheel towards them for the second time that day with malicious intent.

“What the hell are you laughing at?” he seethed, arms at his sides, fists bunched up. 

“You couldn’t even make it to the other side!” They were holding their stomach looking as if they were about to keel over, face red, tears threatening to spill. 

Madara felt humiliated in a way he hadn’t in a long time. He wasn’t used to being seen as inadequate in the eyes of others, especially for not being able to do something so simple. Skipping rocks was something he had seen his siblings do multiple times, but he had never tried it himself as he deemed it too childish. He took a deep breath and then ducked down to pick up another rock, raising it with the intent to lob it at their shaking figure, but they noticed and promptly flinched and sank to the ground again.

“Please don’t hit me, I’m sorry I swear!” 

Their voice trembled and he thought it was strange, the way they recoiled so quickly, as if they were afraid of what he might do. He realized that he should be less abrasive, as they had shown they were harmless enough.

“I’m not going to! But you shouldn’t laugh at people,” Madara allowed the rock to clatter to the ground, he then crossed his arms and raised his chin, allowing confidence to overtake him. “Especially those you can’t beat.”

The other kid slowly raised his head up, a sly smile forming, “Oh, you think I can’t make it to the other side?”

“Willing to bet on it.”

“If you gamble with me, you’re sure to lose.” They had taken on a mockery of a voice deeper than their own, making it seem like they weren't going to be doing much of anything. 

Madara snorted in response and before he could process it, they were up and next to him at the river’s shore with a rock in hand. They tossed it with a certainty even Madara couldn’t have, and together they watched it skip across the water in even jumps until it clattered to the other side of the shore. He sighed and then he turned towards them, seeing the unassuming expression they held. 

“What’s your name?”

“Hashirama!” they exclaimed. Their voice was bright and sweet, but the lack of a last name hung in the air. 

“Madara.” he responded in kind.

After the exchange they continued to skip rocks, Madara growing increasingly frustrated with his own faults. His anger had gotten the best of him at one point and he asked Hashirama to spar with him, which the other had obliged to eventually. It ended on equal terms even if Madara was loath to admit it, he was surprised that there was anyone his age that could last against him, nevertheless match him. They had even relaxed together under the sun and he was sure he would get the reason why Hashirama was so skilled. But Hashirama had clammed up, running off without any warning when he had asked about his clan. Madara had simply chalked it up to his new friend having some quirks, or maybe that they were afraid of embarrassing their clan, walking around looking the way they did. He had shook his head as he watched them disappear into the thick of the woods and turned towards his own home.

Madara had acknowledged that, for the first time in his life, he had found someone he could think of as a friend. He had forgotten about the mess of a tea ceremony, he had forgotten about how unfair his life was, and, most importantly, he had forgotten about the war that raged ceaselessly across the river. The fire inside of him had been tamped down, but not completely put out. He realized that he had enjoyed the time he spent with Hashirama so much that it filled his mind completely. Everything else had dissipated, leaving only the jittery content of meeting someone who he felt like really understood him, in ways he didn’t even know yet.

-

It had been late in the day when he finally made his way back home, the sun now hanging low in the sky, most of the heat dying down. He felt like he had to drag himself away from the river, but the promise of seeing Hashirama the next day had renewed his vigor. He had a smile on his face as he ran back to the Uchiha compound, easily avoiding the now watchful guards who were strewn about. Managing to flatten himself against the walls and tuck himself into dark corners, he had finally made it to the main hall. A sigh of relief left him that he wasn’t even aware he had been holding in as he slid the door open.

“Madara.” A stern voice called from the room making his shoulders slump. 

“Yes, mother?” Madara looks up slowly to see her standing with her arms crossed, frown heavy on her face, hair long and wild like his own.

“I’m very proud of what you did today, that aunt of yours is such a bother.” The relief radiating from him is palpable as she pats his head. “I talked with her for you, she won’t be doing that again.” 

“Ah, thank you, mother.” He hangs his head and tries to walk past her, only to have her pinch his ear as he hisses in response. 

“Not so fast! You still have to apologize.”

“I’m sorry.” He bows, feeling embarrassed and ashamed to be standing there. If any of his siblings had seen this they wouldn’t have let it go for months. He was sure that they would hear about it eventually.

“Not to _me,_ to her. And hurry up, the Hyuugas are here for your lesson and you’re an hour late.” 

If anything got him to grimace it was that. The Hyuugas were rather unforgiving when it came to their lessons, always preferring him to be on time, and he had never been late. He had seen how they had reprimanded the twins once when they themselves had shown up 5 minutes late. It didn’t appeal to him.

She had let go of his ear but had moved to pinch the shoulder of his kimono, “And what exactly happened to your clothes?”

He looked down squeamishly, now seeing them ruined beyond belief. All he had done was give her a squeamish smile and a quick raise of his shoulders as he slipped away, leaving her huffing in the background. He had run into the guest room, startling his aunt once again as he lightly bowed and mumbled out a halfhearted apology. Praying that she would leave within the next day or two so he wouldn’t have to deal with running into her again. Then he made his way to the library for his lesson, clad in a dirty kimono and variety of scrapes and bruises. The Hyuuga, Shoichi, showed visible disgust at the sorry state of him, but laid out a scroll of poetry and started reading anyway.

Later in the evening his mother had called him for dinner. Madara arrived a few minutes later, washed up and recovered from the long day. He had a smile on his face and a jump in his step, which wasn’t abnormal, but it was strange after he had been so angry earlier. Madara was the type to stew about things for days or weeks after they happened, until his issues were nothing but a smoldering pile of ashes. Minori wondered what exactly had happened after the tea ceremony to have Madara forget about it all. She thought about questioning him as he picked through his rice, but she thought better of it, he would tell her if he wanted to. 

Madara was happy, for once.

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on twitter [@diIfhunter](https://twitter.com/diIfhunter) :)


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